Withdrawal
by Blackwolf-20
Summary: Andy has turned seventeen, and he's withdrawn from his toys and turned to drinking! Can Woody uncover the reason and help him before it's too late? two-shot
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Toy Story**

**I had planned to make this idea a reality in a Toy Story fic one day, and I'm glad I finally have had the time to do so. I wanted to do some other kind of serious subject matter TS fic. I did the subject matter of bullying in my previous fic "Garbage", and now, I'm doing alcohol as the subject. So as the story goes, the toys have come to be living with an alcoholic Andy. Woody must figure out how to help their owner without exposing their secret. The title was originally "Drugs, Dolls, and Alcohol", but seeing as there's no drugs in this, and considering the concept, I changed the title.**

The Problem

Alcohol was something a toy usually never knew the meaning of, and that was because the toy would be long gone from the kid's life before he or she learned about it. Unfortunately for Woody and the rest of the gang, they were learning the meaning of that word all too soon. It wasn't obvious at first, but little by little, Woody had begun to realize something was wrong with his boy. And it wasn't too long after that did he discover the physical reason.

It hadn't happened until several weeks after his birthday; his seventeenth birthday. And when his birthday came around, it seemed to become just another regular day for the toys. No longer was Woody seated at the edge of Andy's bed, listening to Sarge over the walkie-talkie for updates on his owner's gifts. Rex, Slinky, Hamm and the others weren't panicking down below, fearing they would get replaced. And Buzz was no longer required to assure everyone that things were going to be okay. Those days had passed far too quickly for Woody's liking. As soon as he'd turned thirteen, it was the end of newcomers. Andy had wanted what other boys his age wanted. Things like video games and the latest in sports' gear. Childish playthings were far from his mind, yet after that point, Woody had tried hard to convince them that it was simply a phase. There was no fooling them. They knew no more toys would be coming into the room, which made them feel slightly relieved. But no new toys also meant no toys at all. It meant that Andy was done with them. The message became all the more clear when they suddenly found themselves in the accursed toy box after Andy turned fifteen. Still, Woody would try to tell them that Andy hadn't fully forgotten about them. That there would come a time when he needed them. Woody gave them credited for trying to have faith in the idea, but it was fading fast.

And now Andy was seventeen. An age Woody assumed would title him as a man. But in his eyes, he was still just a kid. He had pulled himself out of the box and crossed the room when that birthday came along.

"Woody, where are you going?" Buzz had shouted from the box.

"I just want to find out what he got," Woody had told him. "It's his birthday afterall."

"You don't expect him to get any new toys do you?" Jessie had called out.

Woody hadn't answered. Up to the point where Andy received his last toy, a remote controlled truck, he couldn't help keeping an ear out.

He had gotten Sarge and the other army guys to follow the old routine of sneaking the walkie downstairs. This time the walkie was under the desk instead of ontop, so it would be easier to push out of sight should Andy make a quick return. Woody had waited and waited for word from Sarge. He didn't know what he wanted to hear. That he'd gotten a new toy? That he'd gotten a new t-shirt? But then Sarge had informed him that Andy would be spending his party elsewhere; a possible last minute decision on Andy's part. Woody had then clicked off the radio for the last time.

What followed was a _phase, _a phase Woody wasn't sure he liked. A phase in which a new friend started spending time with Andy. A dark-haired boy Woody believed was called James. Before him, it was a girl stealing his owner's attention. But it was expected that Andy would take an interest in gaining a girlfriend. She never spent much time with him in his room. It was always Andy who went to see her. She, and James, and the rest of the circle of friends became Andy's new toys. They were the replacements who pulled him from his room far too often. Though Woody and the others appreciated having more time to act lively without his presence, they still missed not seeing him often. He was growing up, and he wanted his independence from his room, from his house—from his toys. Woody didn't want to know if the others accepted it, especially since he hadn't. They were now simply existing within the room, or within the box.

So when several weeks after his birthday struck, it was Woody alone who noticed a change in their owner, because he was paying the most attention to the boy's changes.

They were hearing a lot more of "Andy's coming!" from Hamm as Andy was now spending a bit more time alone in his room. But that wasn't what was odd. Woody had noticed the look on his face before Andy dropped across his bed, stomach side down, to take a nap. He looked, in his opinion, sad.

"Woody, drop the lid before Andy sees you!" Jessie had hissed as he was the one holding it up to study the boy.

"He's asleep, knocked out," he reassured her.

"You can't take a chance with a teenager," said Mr. Potato Head.

"Come on guys, it's safe. And the fresh air will do us all some good."

"Well I got news for you cowboy, it's in here we have to get used to," Mr. Potato Head told him.

But Woody hadn't listened. He was studying Andy's face. He looked more than sad. He looked exhausted, and maybe a bit depressed; still he had been asleep at the time.

But soon enough, it became the way he looked even when he was awake. It hadn't been easy for Woody too get sneak peeks. The others had ducked below, not wanting to take the chance of being caught. But Buzz, Rex, Hamm and all the rest had joined him in spying on Andy when they heard him rummaging wildly and angrily through his closet one day.

He was muttering something they couldn't quite understand. Woody was sure it was a good thing that they couldn't. And then Molly peeked in upon hearing the commotion, and to the toys' shock, Andy started yelling at her. He accused her of being in his closet, then when she denied it, he demanded she leave his room. To illustrate his meaning, he had physically pushed her out with such a force she fell to the floor. Molly had gone running to mom and Andy followed to deny anything.

"What,..what was that all about?" Jessie had asked, unable to understand.

"Andy was really upset," Rex noted.

"No kidding," said Hamm.

"Something's definitely wrong," Buzz decided.

Woody could only grit his teeth as he heard the argument downstairs, wishing more than ever that Andy had just come to them. Woody knew he could have soothed the boy's rage, but what he had wanted to know was where it had come from.

The days following turned out no different, except that Andy wasn't expressing his anger. He was keeping it bottled up inside him or expressing it on his face. Mom had punished him to his room with no friend visitations. It hadn't bothered Andy too much as he had brought along the source of his frustration and depression. But Woody and the others hadn't caught on. All they'd noticed was that Andy appeared more tired than usual. They'd catch signs of red eyes, and they'd hear his slurred speech over the cell. They'd even hear or see him stumbling about like a young boy would do after running around in a circle to dizzy himself.

"Maybe he's sick," Slinky guessed.

Woody counted that theory out quickly. He knew Andy had never been sick in such a way.

"Maybe it's some kind of phase, like Woody said," said Mrs. Potato Head.

"No, I don't think so," Woody said gravely. He had concocted a slight idea, but he had dismissed it quickly, not believing it was possible for his boy. He was too good, too smart.

"What could it be?" Jessie questioned.

"Perhaps it has something to do with school," Buzz suggested.

Woody let them come up with all the possibilities they wanted. He was determined not to share his thoughts, maybe not even after he found proof.

When Andy's grounding was lifted and he'd left the house, Woody sent the soldiers on a special secret mission. One in which they scoured the room in silence, and whenever someone asked what they were up to, they'd simply say, "That information is classified." When they asked Woody, he gave the excuse that they were practicing their training since Andy no longer brought them out into a battlefield. They figured it was their private game, and left Woody and the soldiers to it.

After a day of searching, Woody was convinced that he was wrong as they had found nothing. He had been vague in his explanation about what he wanted them to find.

"Just look for any usual bottles or containers with strong liquid inside."

No such things were found and Woody was relieved. But Andy's strange behavior continued on the next day, so Woody had the men go into action once more. After a much more thorough search, it was found behind a secret compartment of Andy's closet; a brown bottle in a paper sack. There was definitely liquid still inside—a foul smelling liquid.

When Woody found himself standing before it, he felt apart of himself die. This was the source of his angry moments, his sudden stumbly seemingly clumsy way, his sometimes slurry speech, his exhaustion and depression. Woody stared at it as if it were the only mark of evil in the world. But then his expression dropped to pain. How could he tell the others. If he did tell the others, there was nothing they could do. They were to remain quiet. Andy wouldn't seek comfort in them, he would seek it in that bottle and many more that he'd sneak into the house.

Woody had only a brief knowledge of alcohol from a brief owner before Andy's father. He learned grown-ups liked to use it as a replacement for milk and other childlike drinks, while others liked to use it to solve a problem. The latter, from what he'd seen, never worked. And now his boy, the greatest brightest kid in the world, was headed down that same dark path. He wasn't even a full grown-up yet.

He was brought out of the horror when a hand landed on his shoulder. Buzz was standing by his side, gazing at the source of Woody's pain.

"What have you found cowboy?"

If Buzz didn't know he was a toy in the beginning, how could he understand what they were looking at?

"Something, Andy shouldn't have," he answered in a broken voice. "It's why he's been acting so strange lately."

"What is it Woody?"

He didn't want to tell him. He wanted the childish illusion to continue. If he told, it would be admitting that Andy was no longer a boy. That he was old enough to make such a decision, a stupid decision that didn't involve them. If he told Buzz and all the others, they would be leaving their innocent world behind, and joining the clearer, darker side that humans experienced as they grew.

"It's bad Buzz. Real bad."

Buzz moved closer to it, and his eyebrows raised.

"Wait a minute, I believe I've heard of this before." He looked around at Woody, who now had no choice but to explain.

For the next three days, they'd kept it between themselves. But as Andy worsened, the others bombarded them for answers as they realized the guilty looks on their faces. Woody had sat, curled up in a corner of the box, listening to Andy stumble around and slur on the phone. He half listened as Buzz gave the truth to the small group before him. The silence following gripped at Woody's invisible soul. Now they knew. Now they knew what kind of person Andy had become. A boy not to be proud of, and Woody couldn't look any of them in the eye.

When Andy left the room, they exited the box while maintaining their unnerved silence. No one knew what to say, until Mrs. Potato Head opened her mouth and started the conversation.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," she cried.

"Neither can I," said her husband. "Andy's always been such a good kid. Why would he want to do something like putting poison into his system."

"There are all kinds of influences out there, and we can't see them all, being locked away in a box," Buzz reasoned.

"And we can't do anything about it either," said Hamm.

"Mom could do something," Rex suggested.

"If she knew about it," said Jessie as she patted Bullseye. "Maybe, somehow, we can tell her."

"No," Woody said coldly. He had his back to all of them, lost in his own oncoming darkness.

"But Woody, we can't let Andy hurt himself like this. We gotta do something," she begged.

"It's are job isn't it?" asked Slinky.

"Hff, our job was to be his best friends, until he outgrew us," said Mr. Potato Head.

"Mom can't know," said Woody, darkly. "She can't become ashamed of him. She's the only parent he has left."

"So what are you saying we do? Sweep it under the rug?" Buzz asked.

"I don't know yet. I have to think."

Woody walked away from them, knowing their eyes were at his back, desiring an answer from their leader; but he had none. All he knew was that he didn't want Andy's mom or his sister to become heartbroken by finding out the truth. Part of him wondered if he was simply being selfish; that he simply wanted to be the one and only one to save the day—to save Andy. But how could he? He was just a toy, incapable of truly talking with his owner.

Woody climbed onto the desk overlooking the room and looked at the picture of his boy posted on the bulletin board. There was the happy, innocent, bright eyed eight year old version of the boy, smiling with all his toys around him. Woody was in his hand, smiling as well. It was a fake and real smile at the same time. As he stared at it, he couldn't help wonder what his father would say about this. Woody shut his eyes briefly and decided that if his father was here, he wouldn't want him to know either. He opened his eyes and looked into Andy's happy ones.

"Why Andy?" he whispered sadly. "Why?"

**This was originally going to be a oneshot, but with all the details, I am forced to cut it in half. So now it's a two-shot. This part introducing the problem the next, well, you'll see. Will Woody discover the reason Andy's turned to drinking? I guarantee you it's big…really big. It has to be as it would be out of character for Andy to even be doing it. But the reason for it is also out of his character.**

**I really wanted this story to have a dark edge with just the right details, especially considering the toys can't see a lot as they are in the toy box now. I hope I did okay by it. I don't know a lot about drunkenness except what you get on t.v. But it's simple enough. Please review like crazy! And stay tuned for the last chapter!**

**Remember, review, review Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Toy Story**

**Here's the concluding end to the story. It promises to be very dramatic. I enjoyed created a stories like this. Actually, it was partially inspired by all those classic tv sitcoms I used to watch. I don't know if you guys know, but some of the episodes were labeled as "special" because they dealt with special/serious subject matters. I decided to apply that here. So, will it be possible for Woody to do something about Andy's drinking?**

The Solution

It had been going on for three weeks total, or possibly more, as Woody and the others had discovered Andy's secret later than they hoped. Whenever Andy left and mom came in to gather up his clothing for the wash, Woody had dared to peek through the box and watch. He would always hope she would discover what Andy kept in the hidden part of his closet, and also under a particular set of springs under the bed. But when mom left empty handed, Woody couldn't help but feel relieved. Why?

This was a situation for a parent to handle. It was much to mature and complicated for a toy. After Buzz had shared what was happening with the others, they had refused to let their plasticity get in the way.

One night while Andy had been splayed across the bed, sleeping off the drink, Jessie led Hamm, Rex, Slinky, Buzz, and Bullseye on a mission to get rid of the problem. Mr. Potato Head stayed behind.

"You guys are nuts, the kid will just get more," he had told them.

Woody had to agree. If Andy was that hooked on the stuff, he wouldn't be deterred by disappearing bottles. Still, they tried. They snuck into the closet, pulled out the bottle, and loaded it on one of Andy's old plastic construction trucks. Keeping guard over the troops were the smaller green soldiers. From the toy box, Woody and the Potato heads and their children watched the whole thing. To Woody, it was a disturbing sight. Alcohol wasn't something that should have been mixed up with toys. They had no business together, yet there was the toy truck with the powerful substance in the back, and Jessie and Buzz with a hand on the side holding it in place. Innocence seemed to have ended right there for them. They then carefully wheeled it up to the bed where they pulled out the next bottle. Afterwards, they wheeled it out of the room.

It was hours before they returned. Woody had feared they'd been caught by mom, but it wasn't so. They had returned, confident that this was the solution. Woody didn't think so. He knew it would be a mistake when Andy awoke, and he was proven right when he went rummaging through the closet and under the bed for the precious drink. When he couldn't find them, he got angry.

He started to tearing the place apart in search of one. The mere glimpses they'd had of it frightened them, especially when Andy came rummaging wildly through the toy box. They had found themselves tossed around, hitting the side of the bed, desk, or floor. Mom had come up, and Andy found himself snapping at her about the room. She became lost and sentenced him to another week of grounding. After that, he settled himself on the bed and shook. They had to wait until he went downstairs for dinner before they could reorganize themselves. They found they too had been shaking. Woody had turned to Jessie and Buzz.

"Let's not do that again guys," he told them. There were no protests on that matter.

So now, a sad week was going by, and with mom checking in on the boy, his only real time to slip into drink mode was during the late hours of the night. It was as if the stealing of the bottles had made it worse, and Jessie was feeling the guilt.

"It's not your fault Jessie," Woody told her. "The situation could only get worse."

"I just wanted to help," she told him.

"We all do," said Woody.

"But, there's got to be something we can do," Buzz reasoned. "We can't just stand by and watch him…"

He couldn't finish it. Woody looked around at the desperate group.

"I know Buzz, I know. We'll do something."

He couldn't just stand by either. That was his boy and it was their responsibility to be there for him. Andy was hurting, and he didn't seem to realize that he still had them to go to. Woody believed the only way to let him know, was to show him.

Rex had suggested they take his wallet, but the others pointed out that they didn't want to start turning into thieves. Mrs. Potato Head thought the best way would be to let mom handle it afterall. She suggested they bring the bottles into full sight the next time she came into his room, but after seeing Andy's silent deterioration they did not wish for her to see the reason. In a way, they thought it best to protect her from the betrayal. She had an imagine of Andy as a perfect little angel, but that image was starting to fall. Woody was sure she'd learn the truth sooner or later, but he wanted to help Andy pull himself out of this phase, or whatever it was.

So Woody proposed the most obvious thing. He would confront Andy. The thought immediately spooked the others and they quickly argued against it.

"No, this will work guys, I can get through to Andy."

"You can't just reveal yourself like that!" Buzz cried.

"I don't plan to," said Woody. "I'll get him when he's…drunk."

Admitting the word, oddly enough, left a bad taste in his mouth.

"But what good will that do?" asked Jessie.

"No good if you ask me," said Mr. Potato Head. "You can't reason with a drunk."

Woody frowned, not liking Potato Head calling their owner that, even though he used the same word.

"He's not a drunk, and he won't be after I get through with him."

"But Woody," Rex started.

"No. This is something I have to try. For Andy's sake."

No one argued or tried to offer other ideas. They would leave it in his hands. All he had to do now was some up the courage, and the right words.

When night had come, and mom and Molly were already asleep, Andy got up from his bed. He staggered over to his closet's secret compartment where a fresh bottle was stashed. Through a slit opening in the toy box, Woody watched the whole thing. The boy had his back to him until he stood and turned. Woody was then able to see the mix of delight, anger, and sadness upon his features at the sight of the brown bottle in his hand. Woody was eager to jump out of the box and run straight to him, but he forced himself to wait. He watched, feeling a sickness in the pit of his stuffing as Andy took a long swig. He stumbled over to his desk and set the bottle down. Then he himself made it into the chair and turned on the lamp.

Andy rested a worn down face against one of his hands as he rolled the bottle around on the edge with the other. He glanced at the bottle with aversion, then he took another drink-a longer one that nearly emptied the bottle. After that, he laid his head face down in his arms on the table. Woody took it as his cue to act. Quietly he climbed out of the toy box as the others held up the lid.

"Good luck sheriff," said Buzz.

"Thanks," Woody whispered. "I sure hope this works."

"Call us if you need anything," said Jessie.

Woody gave a nod and crossed over to the desk. Andy didn't stir as he proceeded to climb. When he'd made it, he stared down at the boy. The last time he was this close to him, was when he'd yanked him out of the box, in a desperate search for his new addiction. All kinds of feelings stirred within him, including one he didn't want to feel at all—shame. He had always felt nothing but pride when it came to Andy, and now that pride was all but diminished. He couldn't call this version of Andy his owner. Either way, he moved closer.  
"Andy," he said quietly.

He didn't stir. Woody frowned and said it with a little more firmness.

"Andy."

He raised his head and looked straight at him. Andy's eyes were red and his face, definitely worn. This was definitely not a version of the boy he recognized. For one thing, Andy didn't so much as scream at the sight of him. His eyes widened, but his reaction to a talking doll was slow.

"W—woody?" he asked with a slight slur. Woody placed his hands on his hips, but he wasn't smiling. "No…can't be."

"It is," Woody confirmed. He walked a few steps closer and eyed the bottle Andy had been so interested in. "Andy, I don't understand. How could you?"

"What?"

"You have so much going for you. Why would you want to throw it all away?"

Andy slowly raised his head a little higher and frowned down at the doll. It was clear to Woody how far into a drunken state Andy was. Mr. Potato Head was right. If he wasn't, Andy would have realized it was wrong for his favorite toy to be talking with him. Instead, his brain was working slowly under the liquor and was too weak to decipher the truth of his reality.

"Woody? What's going on?" Andy asked.

Woody sighed. "What's going on, is that you're hurting yourself."

Andy stared, still not processing. Then he glanced at the bottle.

"I wasn't trying to…I didn't…I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have gone to mom, or to me," Woody reasoned. At that, Andy gave a dry laugh.

"You're a doll…if you haven't noticed, I'm too old for toys."

"Oh yeah, I've noticed," Woody muttered as he glanced at the toy box. The others were carefully observing the scene. He looked back at Andy who had his eyes closed and was massaging his temples. After a moment he opened them and stared down at Woody once more.

"How are you…talking to me?" he questioned. "Am I…dreaming?"

"No, you're drunk, so let's leave it at that," said Woody. He could tell the boy was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with him and was pleased to let him think it was an effect of the drink. In his opinion, it would make it easier for him to get Andy away from the dangerous stuff.

"But…I'm…not," Andy weakly argued.

"Oh yeah? Then how are we having this conversation?"

Andy stared, then he leaned back in his chair and stared down at the floor.

"I don't know anymore…maybe, I've gone crazy."

Woody stepped closer.

"You haven't gone crazy, but you are making one crazy choice. And I need you to…we need you to put an end to it."

"And if I don't, what are you gonna do? Arrest me?" Andy gave another dry laugh and leaned his head over the chair backing.

"Andy," Woody started in a serious voice. "Since you're dad passed me down to you, we've always been partners. And I have never had a reason to be ashamed of you, until the last couple of days when you decided you could find answers at the bottom of that bottle."

"What do you know about it, you're just a toy!" Andy growled. "A stupid toy."

"That's not you talking, that's the booze. Something only a weak person would need. Someone, apparently, like you!"

"I'm not weak!" Andy cried as he swung out his arm to knock Woody aside. Instead he hit his drink. The bottle slipped out of sight, crashed to the floor, and smashed into pieces. Both of them simply looked down at it, allowing the silence to eat away at them.

"Oh Andy, I'd hate to hear what your dad would say if he saw you now."

Andy raised himself up slowly and sighed.

"This…has nothing to do with…dad," he muttered.

"Then what's wrong? What's wrong Andy?" Andy looked away from him and focused his blurry gaze up to the bulletin board.

"You wouldn't understand," he answer as he stared at the old childhood picture of himself.

"Try me," Woody pleaded.

"You're not my father Woody," he said as he sunk onto his arms. For a minute, Woody was afraid Andy might actually pass out. He couldn't let that happen, not when he was so close. But Andy's words had taken him aback. He was sure there were times when Andy first lost his dad, that Woody believed he should take it upon himself to fulfill that role somehow. But of course the other toys convinced him his only role was to be a very good friend.

"I don't pretend to be Andy. I don't want to replace your dad. He was my owner once too, remember? I just want to be your friend."

Woody stepped closer and noticed Andy had his eyes closed.

"Dad," he whispered longingly.

Woody studied his relaxed features carefully . If mom walked in right now, she would assume he'd fallen into a peaceful sleep. Even though he looked calm, Woody got the obvious sense that he was seriously troubled.

"Andy, is this about your dad?" he asked again in a grave voice.

He shook his head into his arms. His eyes were still closed.

"No," he muttered softly. "It's about…what I've _done_."

"What have you done?" Woody found himself frightened to learn the answer. Could it be worse than drinking?

"I did it…"

"Did what?"

"_It_," he whispered. "_It_ with…her."

Woody had no idea what he was talking about. He could only gawk in confusion. Woody looked over at the other toys. They couldn't have heard what Andy said, but they too mirrored his look of confusion.

"Andy, what are you…"

"I'm…dad..I did it," he mumbled. "I thought…she said it was okay. Now..it's over."

Woody continued to stare, completely perplexed. Then Andy started to moan softly.

"Andy, is this about grades?" Andy sat back up and placed a hand against his forehead. No doubt he was starting to feel the affects of a powerful headache. He could barely open his eyes.

"No…told you," he slurred. "I'm…dad..I did it."

"Andy, you're not making any sense," Woody reasoned. He was starting to think Mr. Potato Head was right. That he was just too drunk to be reasoned with.

Then his eyes popped further open. Woody could easily read his feelings just by looking at them.

"It's Claire. I was stupid." Woody hated to think Andy could ever do anything stupid. Still, he waited for his response. "We did it."

"Did what?"

"She's having a baby." His face crumpled up as if he was about to cry, and his eyes drooped once more.

Of all the things Woody might have expected him to say, regardless of how outrageous it was, like Andy had stolen something or cheated, or possibly murdered (something Woody couldn't believe came to his mind), a baby wasn't on the list. It didn't make sense. Andy was still a kid himself. Sure he was a lot older than a young boy should be, but he wasn't exactly an adult.

"W-what?"

Andy's gaze met Woody's big brown eyes.

"She got pregnant." He leaned forward and laid his head on his folded arms. "I couldn't tell mom. She'd be so…I've ruined everything. It was stupid. It won't just be on her. It's on me too. A baby."

For a moment, Woody just stood there, unable to comprehend what his boy was confessing. He looked down at the others and saw them exchanging dialogue. They had heard this much he was sure.

"But Andy, how? I mean, you're still young," Woody cried.

Andy gave a sad smile.

"I'm not that young sheriff. And as for the how…well…trust me."

Woody looked over at the others again. Now would be the time he'd require their help, but what could they say? What could he say? He looked back at Andy with new eyes. He couldn't look at him as a child anymore, now he was forced to look at him as a man.

"Well, Andy, that's not so bad. As a matter of fact, it's great!"

Now Andy's features were contorted in confusion.

"Huh?" He asked as he raised himself back up.

"Think about it Andy, there's no greater joy than a child. I would know, being a toy who loves kids more than anything. This is no reason to drink yourself away. This is a reason to celebrate."

"Not when the mom and dad are only seventeen," he said while shaking his head. "This interrupts school, my chance to go to college. This…changes everything."

Woody had to admit he had a point there.

"Well, maybe," he told him. "You are growing up, and after your encounter with Claire…you've obviously grown up a lot more. You're going to have to take this responsibility and care for that child. And you can start by getting rid of that bottle and any other bottles you've got hidden away."

Andy looked down at the glass on the floor, then dropped his head and furrowed his brow. Woody could tell he was getting through to him.

"I've made a mess of things, haven't I Woody."

"We all make mistakes," Woody reasoned. "The hard part is owning up to them. But drinking is the worst one you can make! I..that is we, don't want to see you get hurt."

He gestured over to the other toys and Andy turned his gaze to the toy box. The others opened the box a little wider and gave him small waves or a nod.

"You've got too many people who care about you. Some, who happen to be toys, but it still counts. And soon, you're going to be a father, with a baby who'll care about you too. Do you really want to hurt him this way?"

Andy looked away from the other toys and down at the desk.

"No," he whispered.

"I didn't think so," said Woody.

"Then what do I do?"

He sounded so desperate, like a frightened child. Woody bit his lip and gazed at him uncertainly. He couldn't cross those boundaries any further. This was a case for a parent to handle. His only goal had been to wean the boy off the drink, but he had ended up discovering so much more. He sighed and gave him a small smile.

"I think the answer is clear. Talk to you mom, please. For your sake, for the kid's sake."

Andy took a deep breath and exhaled. Then he nodded as he looked down at Woody.

"Alright. You always knew the right thing to do." He got up and started walking towards the bed.

"Ah, Andy!" Woody called. "I think it would be best if you told your mom now, while It's fresh on your mind."

"Oh."

He changed directions and headed for the door. There was a moment where he paused and gazed back at Woody and the toy box, blurry eyed. Then he silently left the room. Woody watched him feeling hollow. It all felt like a horrible commotion in his head that he couldn't make sense of. Andy hadn't been destroying himself for a bad grade or for whatever other reason a kid may turn to drinking. He had done so because he had crossed the line into adulthood far too soon. It was something he wasn't ready for. Something he thought he could hide or drink away.

Woody looked down at the smashed bottled and hoped he wouldn't reached for anymore. He jumped down to the chair, then onto the floor. He stood there, gazing at the door, as if he expected to hear Andy's conversation with his mom. Buzz walked up to him, but Woody didn't turn around

"A baby huh?" he asked.

Woody gave a slight nod. "Yeah Buzz. Can you believe that? Can you believe how much he's…" He couldn't finish by saying 'how much he's grown'. It was far to much for him to handle.

"I'm sure he'll make it through this," Buzz reasoned. "He has his mother for that afterall."

"I know."

"You did a good thing partner."

"I just…hope it was enough," he muttered.

"You did as much as you could Woody," he said while patting his shoulder. "Come on."

Woody allowed Buzz to maneuver him back to the toy box. It was hard when he wanted so much to be by Andy's side. But there were some affairs, he realized, he couldn't solve or stick his nose into. He had pushed through a barrier by shattering his own rule to open his owner's eyes.

Woody had spent a restless night in the box. He couldn't help replaying what he had learned and imagining what might have happened. Before he knew it, it was morning. He could hear Andy moving about. Woody instantly went still as he heard Andy making his way towards his new home. The box lifted and Woody found himself being yanked up into Andy's hand.

"Woody," he cried. "Woody please. Talk to me."

His eyes were a bit red, but he had sobered up.

"Talk to me," he continued to beg. "Please. Don't let it…all be a, dream."

As much as Woody desired to, he didn't move, or blink, or say anything at all. He simply laid limp in his hand. He couldn't. He forced himself not to.

"Not a, dream," Andy decided slowly. He looked at the place where the smashed bottle had been before he cleaned it up late last night. "I was, drunk."

He closed his eyes, and Woody was able to see how painful it was for him to admit it. He wanted more than anything to clear it up, but he knew deep down, this would be for the best. Andy turned back to Woody, then he gently laid him back into the toy box.

"Okay sheriff," he said quietly, before shutting the lid.

Darkness consumed them. It was safe for them, but Woody didn't move.

"Woody, you alright?" Jessie asked. "Woody?"

After a minute he pulled himself up and made his way over to the lid. He eased it up to a crack. No one was in sight, not even Andy. Woody sighed. He didn't know what would happen after this. He didn't know how bad his family handled the news. According to his reaction, he had simply needed Woody to be there for him, alive and talking. But Woody couldn't give him that much. He had made a mistake, one that truly cost him his childlike innocence. Whenever he had caught sight of the young teens becoming parents to a child on t.v, he hadn't understood why their parents were so angry about it. A baby was a good thing. But now he felt he could understand what they were talking about. A baby, for someone as young as Andy changed everything.

But he didn't have to know exactly how his mom had taken it. All he needed to know was that it wasn't going to change Andy back into the frightening destructive force they'd been forced to keep secret for so long.

"The question is Jess, will Andy be alright."

Nobody answered that question. It was up to Andy to decide. He wasn't a kid anymore. This wasn't a situation they could solve, at least not more than what Woody had done. He pulled his legs up to his chin and rested them there. He thought about the look in his eyes before he laid him back into the box. There was a look of confusion, but there was also gratitude.

For now, he supposed, that was just enough.

**Yeah! The end! I didn't want to end with a clear happy ending and answers. The situation will still be unclear for Andy, but this is where I stop. Hope you enjoyed it!**


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